King of Assassins: The Elven Ways: Book Three Read Free Page B

her hand to place her finger across Nutmeg’s lips. “Words like that could cause a wagon load of trouble.”
    Nutmeg flashed a look. “I may be small, but I am not simple.”
    Lily Farbranch emerged from the doorway of the farmhouse, wiping her hands on the hem of her apron, a half-smile curving her lips. “Grace has not been gone from us long enough to think such things, Meg.” She smoothed her apron down as both her daughters adjusted on the bench to make room for her, but she stayed in the doorway, leaning a shoulder against it. The dusk softened the lines in her face and laugh creases about her eyes, but added to the shimmer of gray strands among her dark hair. Nutmeg echoed some of her looks, but not all, for she carried her father Tolby’s looks as well. Their mother watched them for a long moment before adding, “I know it’s getting late, but the two of you need t’be thinking of letters to draft in thanks to Lord Bistane and Lord Tranta for their birthing gifts.”
    “Think of,” Nutmeg responded. “An aryn wood cradle. D’ you wonder if Lord Bistane carved it himself?”
    “I think he might have planned the crafting of it. He’s been at Ashenbrook so much cleaning the battlefield and preparing for another, it’s hard to tell if he’s had time while bolstering the lines there. The wood, though, came from his forests, no doubt of that.”
    Aryn wood was a wonder, a bane against wild magic and corruption still lingering in the lands from the wars among the Mageborn centuries ago. It was considered such a beneficial wood that baby toys were made from it, when it could be gotten, to carry good fortune and guardianship for the young. To have an entire cradle made of it—well, that was a gift beyond compare. Bistane took after his father Bistel, stepping into his position as a warlord whose strategy and execution were incomparable, but who also held a deep love for his land and for the aryn trees which had come from the unknown lands of their Vaelinar past, a handsome, straight-backed man who carried his legacy well. Rivergrace smiled in fond remembrance.
    “I had not expected anything from th’ Lords, what with all that.” Meg fell silent, her gaze dropping to the dirt lane. When she looked up, it was to say, “Lord Bistel protected me, you know. At Ashenbrook. From the Raymy and all. I heard his last words.”
    Lily dropped her hand onto her daughter’s shoulder. “We know. You told us the tale.”
    Nutmeg opened her mouth as if to add more, but tightened her lips instead, her hand working on her lap, twisting a knot and then letting it go.
    “What about the baby cart?” Rivergrace prompted, to ease Meg’s sudden mood. “Not aryn wood, but a fine mahogany ship, with those ocean waves carved into it.”
    “It is a fine carriage, with a ride as soft as wool.”
    “Tranta said the making of it was one of the things that eased the loss of his brother.”
    Lily murmured, “Every war has its losses, but this last is almost too much to bear.” She dropped one hand to caress the top of Nutmeg’s head.
    In the memory of dark times, a flicker of movement caught Rivergrace’s eye.
    “He still works on the Jewel of Tomarq, does he not?” Lily asked softly. “Putting the Jewel to rights after it was shattered?”
    “Aye, he does. Obsessed with it. He says he can see the Way pulsing still within those bits of gem and Jewel, and swears he will find a way to put the Jewel back together. I don’t know if he can, but Lariel says if anyone can, it will be Tranta Istlanthir. I say it cannot come quickly enough, for I miss his light and quick wit.” The lord of the coast, with his sea-blue hair, was one of her favorites. Even as she rued the loss of his humor, something sharp stabbed at her senses like a knife in the dark. She turned her head about.
    Nutmeg stood abruptly. “I’d better get t’ those letters. They have to be grand ones. I’ll be glad for your help, Rivergrace.”
    Grace surged to